


The Secret

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Syrene LightfireLegolas shares with Gimli a secret the dawrf has long dreaded hearing.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	The Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Category: Point of View, Angst  
> Characters: Legolas Gimli  
> Warnings: None  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: Legolas shares with Gimli a secret the dawrf has long dreaded hearing  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All my money is ebing saved for repeated veiwings of The Lord of the Rings when it comes out in theaters.  
> Feedback: Yes, always.  
> Story Notes:

The forest foliage drifts to the ground like leaves of colored paper through bars of rich, gold sunlight. Dappled webs of shadows sway across the breadth of the forest floor in time with the creaking of young, green branches and thick, stubborn trunks.

Along the cresting bank of Nimrodel, Legolas Greenleaf has arranged their meeting, and though Gimli, child of the earth that he is, feels the pulses of the forest as deftly as Legolas, they do not beat through his veins with the same power that they do the limber elf. The forest is alien to him, it's scaly leaves and showers of pollen flutes never fail to leave him feeling assaulted, attacked by armies more irritating than threatening, with spearheads as sharp as butterfly wings. The forest sings of elves, and Gimli feels not it's neighbor, not it's friend, not in the least. Yet for all its treachery; it's ignoble armies, it's flighty, feathery touch, Gimli is sure that it keeps his secret. It holds its breath with him as he waits for Legolas, holds its breath as if it knows the secret he has been carrying.

"Friend Gimli, noble son of Durin." Gimli starts, for though he expected not to hear the light footsteps of the elf, he is still caught by surprise. Legolas drops onto his knees before the dwarf, leveling their eyes. "How fare?"

"Well," Gimli feels the coarseness of his words in the airy environment. He can feel the thinness of the elf's breath as he gasps, tired from his flight, and he is aware of how little breath it takes to sustain the elf's body. "Better if I knew to what business this fool elf has called me in such secret?"

The words are rough, but the tone is not unkind. Legolas smiles, his cheeks turning the color of a wintry sunrise. His chest is heaving; visible beneath the thin white garment he wears.

"And dire secret it is, dear friend," Legolas breaths. "Dire secret, ne're to touch the ears of any in middle earth, save for you." Gimli feels a rush of something like desire flooding his veins, as the elf speaks.

"Speak up then, elf." He demands, fearful of being too close for too long. The pale, nearly diaphanous skin of the elf beckons like silken snow. His blond eyelashes flutter as he speaks, and the wafting strings of blond hair lighter than satin threads, and, he thinks, softer as well. Gimli thinks there would be nothing softer, and his fingers are suddenly alive. He digs a nail into his thumb and draws blood to quell the feeling. Legolas is shaking his head from side to side.

"Nay, nay, first promise me, friend. Promise me that though unaccepted my secret may be to the others, though wilt always care for me, and never treat me with unkindness for what I can no longer keep hidden from you. Promise, please." Legolas is biting his lips. His eyes are wide, like two pale green pools quivering in shells of perfect white.

"Axes of the dwarves, I promise." Gimli answers. His mouth is dry, his hands trembling. Legolas face is the color of fresh milk, but his eyes have turned to living emeralds.

"Dear friend, dear, dear friend. I must reveal all," he flings his arms out, "I am in love!" Gimli catches his breath, for in all his imaginings, those words have been fairest of all things dreamed. Legolas closes his eyes oblivious to the passion winging it's way up through his friend. "I love, I love," he whispers. "Elboreth, how I love."

Gimli reaches out his hands, intending to clasp Legolas face. Intending to kiss him, and touch those wispy locks of hair, to bury his hands along the folds of white garments, across the planes of skin, through the curtain of hair. Heart pounding, there are a thousand moments that seem to pass before the first stocky finger grazes Legolas cheek.

Then the elf opens his eyes; innocent, questioning, they peer into his friends face. For a moment, Gimli thinks that Legolas can see what he is thinking, that his carefully hidden secret has been revealed and in a panic, he knots his outstretched finger and knocks Legolas cheek lightly. "Go on," he mutters.  
"I am," The question is gone from the elf's eyes. "I am, Gimli. I am in love with the King of Lothlorien." He closes his eyes and, spreading his arms as though embrace all the forest over which his lover rules, he falls back, splashing onto the leaf litter in a spray of auburn and gold. "I am in love with a man against whom no star is fairer, no forest, no jewel more beautiful, no shaft of sunlight brighter. The king, the king of Lothlorien." Legolas is murmuring to himself, and Gimli can see his friend eyes are tightly closed, and that they refuse to open. And he knows, now. He knows that Legolas has seen what secret lies inside his dwarven friend. He knows, yet does not want to see, and so he clenches his eyes shut. Legolas knows. By all the axes of the dawrves, he has seen.

"Fool elf," he can hear himself muttering as Legolas closed lids tremble, and swirls of sunlit spores fall like glittering rain upon his body. There is something in Gimli's throat now. Something making it hard to breathe. The elf is still murmuring. "Lothlorien, Lothlorien, fairest of all lands, with the fairest of all kings!"

Then, Gimli is leaving. He can hear the elves trembling words melting into the forest, caught up by the wind, and carried into the webs of the leaves. His footsteps fall hard, stalwart and heavy against the ground. Legolas must know he is leaving; the forest child must hear the vibrations of his heavy footfalls with perfect clarity, but the elf does not look up to watch Gimli leave. He remains on the ground, contenting himself with his own soft praises, his own tender admissions of love. His secret, poured out of him.

He passes through the trees, a snarl curls his lips as the treacherous forest sways above him; the treacherous forest that has revealed his secret. Whatever breath it held with him, it now expends as it laughs above him, singing loudly the secrets revealed to it, the love for Legolas, who loves only the king. He realizes now that he should never have come here, and that he should never have trusted the forest. He realizes that the laughing forest will frivolously reveal even those secrets buried as deeply as jewels in a mountain mine. The mountain hides its precious secrets. The forest shouts them to the wind.

When he looks back, the elf can no more be seen. And yet above does the little cry cling still to the branches, and drift on the forest wind. "Lothlorien, Lothlorien." 


End file.
